


Regency

by Trins_xxx



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8911225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trins_xxx/pseuds/Trins_xxx
Summary: They had always thought there were two possibilities in the war - Rhaegar would win and Robert would die, or Robert would win and Rhaegar would die. Nobody had really contemplated the third option until it came to being, not even Tywin Lannister... It could lead to even greater bloodshed, or produce the sort of peace the Seven Kingdoms hadn't seen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate Universe from the time just shortly after Battle of the Trident. Elia-centric, because she has the potential to be the most fascinating of all characters.
> 
> A look at what happens if there is an infant king and the politics and bloodshed involved in fighting over his regency.

** Regency **

Elia Martell knew when the raven arrived that it could only mean the death of her husband lord, and though it confirmed Rhaegar’s death, her expression changed not at all. She had debated long and hard over the drops she had thought to add to Rhaegar’s wine before his departure; had wondered whether his life would benefit her and hers more, or his death, had agonised over the decision with nobody to discuss them with. And now she would have to live whatever little time remained of her life with the decision she had finally settled on.

 

She had been reconciled to her death for some time now; be it by Aerys, the barbaric Baratheons, or even Rhaegar’s inevitable further shaming had he succeeded in this war of his making, she knew she would die, and she knew that her daughter’s death was all but guaranteed. Her son’s life had been the only one she could protect with the meagre and untrustworthy means provided by Varys.

 

Yet nothing was heard of Robert Baratheon’s health. She knew that oafish man enough that his ego would have allowed no one else to kill the Crown Prince. And she had taken extraordinary care to ensure that every aspect of any blade that Rhaegar could wield was covered in the colourless poison that she had carefully made. The smallest scratch should have been enough and yet there was no news. It irked her. She questioned her own work, though she had checked not once, not twice, not even thrice. She had covered every surface of the blades and then the other areas too. She would have Robert’s blood any way that she could. And the lack of news filled her with more dread, more despair, than Rhaegar’s death had.

 

She placed the baby carefully into the bassinet, almost lovingly. She stared at the child a moment longer, the pale hair, his blue eyes. The next moment, she had left her room, marching down the corridor towards the throne room. There was always the hope that Aerys would be a little less cruel if he had less to criticise but the hope was a wisp at best.

 

‘Princess, condolences,’ the whisper paused her steps. Varys appeared truly sympathetic. She almost believed it. ‘Perhaps you could spare me a moment?’

 

‘Perhaps you could walk with me?’ Elia responded, no room left for any niceties.

 

‘Of course, your highness,’ he bowed subserviently. If he was offended by her brusqueness, he showed no sign of it.

 

She resumed her procession of sorts, observed by the few soldiers that Aerys trusted to remain in the building itself. She knew they would be less hope for protection than the blasted Kingsguard had been.

 

‘I trust that you know the contents of the raven’s news?’ He spoke softly.

 

‘I know my Lord Husband is dead,’ Elia enunciated the proper address carefully.

 

‘Ah, not just he,’ Varys looked ever morose but Elia didn’t care, couldn’t care over the sickening pounding of her heart. He paused, as it for dramatics, the damned eunuch. ‘Ser Lewyn sadly died.’

 

_Of course_ the death of her uncle would mean nothing to Aerys, nor would the death of a member of his Kingsguard. He had threatened the two of them enough, held his own shameful blade against her neck, pressed it hard ‘til blood trickled down, kept it there until Uncle Lewyn was out of sight, had held it even longer, sniffing the smell of her blood. He had grown hard, she had felt it against her; the Seven be praised that his Lady Wife was around to suffer his violent desires. Elia had no wish to be his victim in any further ways.

 

She had barely a misstep as she imagined her uncle, her only family in this prison, now dead. And Aerys hadn’t given it a thought, not a mention. The loathing she felt for Aerys made her tremble. Let him think it was fear instead.

 

The stench of burning skin pervaded the throne room still, sickening Elia. It mingled unpleasantly with the body odours from the sweat and Aerys’ seed. There were times when he hadn’t needed his Sister Wife for his pleasures, or the whores in Kings Landing. There were even a handful of times when he had had his way with Rhaella in this very throne room, the echo of her screams still suffusing the air.

 

‘What took you so long?’ He spat the words at her, his hands were claws as he physically shook with spite and rage. ‘Come here, you Dornish whore.’

 

She had no choice but to oblige him. He gripped her arms, nails digging in until the blood was oozing around his nails and she could smell him, unwashed for several days, pleasure staining his thighs no doubt.

 

‘You know the news?’ His eyes narrowed. Aerys was devoid of sadness. It was all heartless fury, self-centred to his very core. He cared little that he had lost a son, he cared considerably more that he may lose his throne, this war. ‘Who’s been telling you? Spies, bloody spies surrounding me.’

 

His right claw had moved to her face, clutching it so tightly that it was difficult to open her mouth to speak. She did so, regardless. It could be the difference between being burnt alive now or later. She infinitely preferred later.

 

‘Nobody told me, I suspected,’ His nails dug in deeper but she continued. ‘Rhaegar would no doubt have sent me message as well as Your Royal Highness.’

 

His fist was both expected and unexpected when it arrived, leaving her an undignified heap on the floor. These weren’t the first bruises she had received from him. She received his fist again and again but he tired easily; he had been eating and drinking less and less and Elia, at least, was not inclined to encourage his health.

 

It was with a particularly malignant glee that he informed her that his Lady Wife and his son were on their way to safety, to Dragonstone, to _her home_. And she would stay and pay the price for Lewyn’s betrayal. With her life, Elia was certain, but it wouldn’t be just her dying. Her daughter and the baby would undoubtedly be killed too.

 

She held to the belief that sooner or later, her poison would take effect in Robert. She would cling tenaciously to life long enough to hear the news of Robert’s death, the only balm left available.

 

The steps back to her solar felt longer and more painful, and when she entered it, her eyes fell on the bassinet, its guest a poor substitute for her own beloved son. She searched for Rhaenys, needing to clutch her to her chest but panic set in. She wasn’t in her solar, and when she rushed to her door, she was locked in. Of course, that evil old man would have her locked in her chambers, the easier to kill her at his own convenience.

 

She slid down to the ground, leant against the door. Her little daughter was out there and Elia was certain the end was nigh. It wouldn’t be long now. Either Tywin Lannister threw in his lot with them – unlikely, when he despised both Aerys and herself in equal measures – or he sided with Baratheon. Or perhaps Aerys would kill her before either happened. It almost wrung out an embittered laugh but the tears didn’t fall. Her pride remained intact.

 

She found herself jerking awake when the noises reached her. She heard the sound of yells, marching feet, and she quickly drew to the bassinet. She held the baby against her breast, made sure to look like a vision of maternal love and devotion.

 

When the doors were smashed open, she knew it was futile. The monster that loomed several feet over her, leers on his lips, lecherous eyes washing over her. She saw his eyes pause on her bruises and injuries, saw the same hideous delight that she saw in the Mad King’s eyes and she knew her death would be more horrific than she could have ever imagined. When he gripped her arms, bruises sure to form where his fingers were tightening, she nearly dropped the baby. She clutched him tighter to her chest, the reality that he would die finally stirring up remnants of empathy she thought long lost these previous months. She was dragged to the Throne Room, and somehow, the sight of the old man dead by the sword of his only remaining Kingsguard did not elicit any surprise. The sight of Tywin Lannister by his son elicited even less.

 

‘Princess,’ the word sounded as big an insult coming from Tywin Lannister’s mouth as it had coming from Aerys’. ‘I’m sure you know what’s happened.’

 

His lips thinned and he looked distinctively unimpressed as she raised a shoulder in response. ‘The Crown Prince is dead.’ He eyed her for a response that was not forthcoming. Eventually, he continued. ‘So is Robert Baratheon.’


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Elia sees the dead body of Aerys and has no idea what Tywin Lannister is thinking, but he's arrogant and a man, so she does what she's always done with arrogant man. And it may have just worked...

Elia Martell tried to keep her face as stoic as possible but she suspected that Tywin Lannister’s spear tip-sharp eyes saw the glee she tried so hard to hide. Nevertheless, she looked him straight in the face, eyes limpid and face as carefully blank as she could make it.

 

‘You’re not surprised,’ Tywin Lannister’s tone was even but Elia could have cursed herself for her stupidity. With such mistakes, she deserved to die.

 

She raised a single shoulder, the other far too sore from how she had fallen from Aerys’ earlier attacks. ‘I’m sure it was the red river. The last news we had, we heard that it was spreading through Rhaegar’s forces. If it spreads through one side, it inevitably spreads through the other eventually.’

 

He continued to stare at her and she continued to stare back. She wouldn’t back down from the likes of Lannisters, not when she had survived Aerys.

 

‘Punish Clegane for not obeying orders,’ he said as a non-sequester. There was a grunt of denial and she could see the tightened backs that told her that Lannister’s men were not looking forward to disciplining that monster of a man.

 

‘Do you intend to kill me and the children?’ She couldn’t fathom why that perverted monster hadn’t done as he was tasked, if that were so. He had shown the same lust for violence that Aerys had delighted in.

 

‘He wasn’t meant to hurt you.’

 

Elia blinked at him, fought hard to not release that bubble of laughter building up inside her. ‘These injuries were from Aerys, not him,’ she spoke when she was certain she wouldn’t come across as deranged. ‘A tight grip and a couple of bruises on the arms are nothing.’

 

Tywin Lannister stared at her again and she stared back, this time because she truly couldn’t puzzle him out. She had built an image of hate, of a man who would gladly destroy her over trivial slights delivered intentionally or unintentionally. This man, however, seemed far too emotionless to be led by petty revenge unless it suited his overall purposes.

 

‘Punish him,’ he finally said, eyes hard as the roughest volcano rock. ‘I demanded no injuries, and bruises on arms count.’

 

He had neither acknowledged, nor answered Elia’s question and she wondered if she should ask again. Once, she had had political savvy. Certainly not the best of puppet masters but nothing to be dismissed. However, those sorts of skills only worked with people of sound mind, and Aerys hadn’t been that. She had been submissive and subservient, the only things one could be to a tyrant such as him, but she had no intention of being so again. Her death was still more or less guaranteed, she reminded herself, quashing the budding hope she could feel growing within herself.

 

‘I suppose the most pressing question is who is to sit on that rather painful throne,’ she’d said, once the giant man had been removed. She heard a choked back laughter, assumed it was the little blonde Kingsguard. She wouldn’t recognise the laughter of any of the inhabitants of this stronghold; there’d been none these last few months.

 

‘Rhaegar Targaryen is dead, so is Robert Baratheon,’ Tywin Lannister repeated, as if the words would have additional meaning. Such dramatics. She could see how this man had once been fast friends with the equally melodramatic former king.

 

‘Yes, and that still leaves Stannis Baratheon and Aegon Targaryen as contenders for the throne,’ Elia countered, blunt and striving for impartiality. For a moment, she felt the mantle of who she had once been; she took full advantage, clutching the babe to her chest artistically. ‘An unknown boy-man that nobody knows anything about, and a little babe, ready to be nurtured and grown into who he should be.’

 

‘With the Targaryen madness,’ Tywin interrupted her contemptuously.

 

‘He’s half Dornish,’ Elia disagreed indignantly. ‘Besides, that Targaryen blood flows through the Baratheons too.’

 

‘It still flows weaker in them. And they don’t carry the tainted name.’

 

She turned around angrily. Her eyes fell on the dead old man and she approached him with curiosity. Was the delight she felt the same sick delight he had felt? Had his sickness of mind come from feeling so helpless, at the mercy of those around him?

 

‘He couldn’t even die like a man,’ she said with disgust. ‘He’s soiled himself, not just the water but the solid too. Not worthy of a boy, let alone a man.’

 

‘And you’d face your death better, I suppose?’ Tywin asked her drily.

 

‘I already have,’ she replied, no fire in her statement, just the coldness of fact. She peered around curiosly, walked over to the dead pyromancer.

 

‘Is there a reason you haven’t taken his blade and covered it with Aerys’ blood? Or thrust it into his dead body even?’ She asked the Kingsguard who, for all his swagger and cockiness, now looked pallid in the flickering candlelight, muscles taut though he was leaning against the wall with feigned nonchalance.

 

‘And why would I do that?’ The smirk never left Jaime Lannister’s lips, but his eyes were watchful and intense. Not as big a fool as he would have others believe, it seemed.

 

‘So that you could blame the death of the King on the Pyromancer,’ she asked him, and took back her previous assessment of his intelligence. That, too, of his father. Or perhaps lacking common sense would be the more accurate assessment, for intelligence and common sense was not one and the same and only the most foolish of fools would consider Tywin Lannister lacking intelligence. Unless…. Her eyes narrowed.

 

‘Unless you’re thinking that becoming known as a Kingslayer would free your son of his white cloak? You may get your heir back, if he isn’t killed or sent to the Wall, which is what the righteous Starks and Arryns are more likely to do.’ Shrewd black eyes stared into Tywin Lannister’s cold eyes.

 

‘I can’t promise you your son back, of course, but I can offer you my daughter for your current heir. I can give you my word,’ Her voice hadn’t shaken. Nor did she herself shake, though bile rose within her throat but she knew she had hit her mark by the arrested gleam in Tywin’s eyes. She had something she could offer him, something few other houses would ever offer him and they both knew it. It still fell on Tywin Lannister and didn’t that sting worse than Aerys’ fist?

 

Her eyes narrowed again and she took another gamble, threw her cards on the table. ‘Of course, it does all depend on you, My Lord. You know that, so do I. Other than my daughter, I can promise you the Hand of the King. You were a greater ruler than Aerys ever was and all have always known it. I can’t offer you the throne but I can offer you the next best.’ Arrogant men loved to have their egos further rubbed. Elia had to take a chance that it would work on this one too. He stared at her throughout her words, stared at her afterwards and it was a fathomless stare. His muscles didn’t so much as twitch and the air in the very room felt suffocating. The tension was palpable to all.

 

‘You don’t appear to be in mourning, My Lady,’ Tywin commented at last and not by her appropriate title either. She couldn’t tell whether it was insulting or complimentary in the Dornish ways. Insulting, she rather thought.

 

‘Must we fabricate in the room where your son’s sword is stained with the blood of the king he was meant to protect? I thought honesty would serve us better, or at least faster.’

 

He assessed her again, coolly and shamelessly and something that he saw or heard or witnessed, something, whatever it was, shifted the mockery in his eyes just a shade. Elia couldn’t tell what this would mean.

 

‘The men are on their way here, the Starks and the Arryns. The Baratheons, I imagine, are heading back towards their new Liege Lord. When they arrive, I’ll arrange a parley to arrive at a peaceful accord. Take her back to her rooms, _unharmed_ ,’ he announced to his men that remained in the Throne Room and Elia fought off a victorious smile. This may have bought her little more than a handful of hours but they were all that she needed. She knew her brothers well. Ten thousand men to fight for Aerys, to be a show of present for him. How many more were on their way for more tactical fighting? And how many would be on their way to her? If Oberyn was not there amongst the ten thousand given to Aerys, she knew he would be on his way to protect her personally, no matter the rumours that had him still in Lys and the few men with Oberyn were all that she needed to turn the tide, little doubt about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this latest chapter. Eventually, the cast will get larger and there will be more action (and death) but neither gratuitously.
> 
> A huge thank you to all those who placed kudos on this story or reviewed it. It's all been noted and very much appreciated.


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